


Another Visit

by auntbijou



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Christmas, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:32:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/auntbijou/pseuds/auntbijou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Christmas comes full circle for Harry Potter, now that he's a father, when Santa returns for a visit.  A sequel to "A Visit."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Another Visit

The house was decorated for the holidays. It was beautiful, and Harry loved it. His first time decorating a tree had come during the first year of his marriage to Ginny and now, he sat in his chair, watching the soft light of the fairies as they crawled through the branches of the tree. He could never bear confining them in little glass balls the way most wizarding families did, and perhaps that was why their tree was so full of them, why they came so willingly from the garden to fill the branches. That and the bowl of milk Ginny always set under the tree for them after she'd given up on convincing him to do it her way. 

He turned his head toward the bedroom where she slept with their new son curled in her arms. It was Jamie's first Christmas, and he was really too young for Harry to play Santa. Still, Harry had put a few baby appropriate toys under the tree for Jamie... just on principle, really. 

A log in the fireplace popped, and Harry turned to look at it, at the dying embers of the fire he and Ginny had sat in front of earlier while Jamie nursed and they had drowsed in the warmth, just enjoying being together, just the three of them. There were times when Harry couldn't believe that this happiness was meant for him, that it would last, that... he sighed, looking back at the tree. How far he had come from the unloved orphan in the cupboard under the stairs! 

There was a thump on the roof, and Harry sat up, fully awake, his Auror-trained senses alert. _What on earth?_

The thump sounded again, then... multiple thumps, muffled by the snow on the roof. It reminded him of when the squirrels ran over the roof in the summer, but... somewhat heavier and... more. He stood, hand on his wand as unmistakable footsteps sounded above, walking to... the chimney? Harry's mouth fell open. No way!! 

And yet, he found himself sitting on the couch, facing the fireplace, watching as the fire went out and cooled, and then, the space widened and grew. There was a shuffle, a grunt, a sliding sound, and then two booted feet appeared, landing solidly in the ashes and soot of the fireplace, followed by a red, fur-lined robe that fell around the legs, swirling slightly before the owner of the legs ducked and came through the fireplace. 

Harry stood abruptly, and found himself staring up at a tall man with long white hair covered with a rather sooty fur hat, a full white bushy beard, and twinkling blue eyes. "Well," said the man in a deep, quiet voice. "I didn't expect you to be up, Harry Potter!" 

Harry's mouth fell open and worked soundlessly for a moment before he finally said, "Santa Claus?" 

The man smiled. "I prefer Nicholas, actually," he said, setting down the large bag that had been hefted over his shoulder. "Santa is what the Muggles call me, not that I mind. But, when I'm among Wizarding folk, I prefer to be called just Nicholas." 

Harry stared at him. "You're _real!_ “ 

"Yes," said Nicholas with amusement. He reached into the bag and drew out a lovely warm blanket, which he set under the tree, as well as a teething ring with a permanent Ever-Cold charm on it, and a rattle that made soft sweet music when it was shaken. 

It was so hard to take in. This man was _real!_ There really was a man who went from house to house on Christmas eve, leaving toys for children under the tree! It was real! It was true! He really did... and Harry paused, memory swelling up of Christmases as a child, peering through the grate on the door of his cupboard, wishing he could see into the parlor where the Christmas tree was, wondering if maybe this time, _this_ time there would be a present there for him... but... there never was. And he turned back to Nicholas, who seemed to be standing there, waiting, watching Harry solemnly, as if he knew what was on Harry's mind. Harry stared at him, at the lines in his face, not all of them from laughing and merriment, it seemed, and his eyes. Eyes that seemed filled with lifetimes worth of wisdom, of joy... and sorrow. Nicholas smiled gently, and held open his arms. 

"Ask me, Harry. I know what is in your heart, but... I cannot answer if you do not ask." 

Harry blinked, puzzled for a moment, wanting to think over the odd statement, but his need to know was growing, and finally, he blurted, "Why? If you are real, why did you never leave me anything? Why always for Dudley?" 

Nicholas sighed. "I never left anything for Dudley, Harry. Dudley's parents did not believe in me, and neither did Dudley, not really, so there was no need for me to leave anything for _him._ “ 

Harry's face fell, an overwhelming sadness coming over him. "But... why not for me? I believed in you, even when I got nothing, I believed in you, and yet..." His throat closed up as he thought of the disappointment, the hurt, the longing of the child he had been, that at least at _Christmas_ , he might be important enough to get something more than a paperclip or a pair of nasty, yellow socks that hadn't even been washed, still reeking of his uncle's sweaty feet. 

"Harry." The voice was gentle, loving, and kind, so very kind, and it brought tears to Harry's eyes, blurring the light of the fairies glittering on the glass ornaments on the tree. A finger slipped under his chin, and his face was tipped up to look into Nicholas', and he was stunned to see tears sliding down the seamed cheeks and into the beard. "Harry... I came to the Dursley's house every Christmas. I left no presents for that spoiled, overly-indulged cousin of yours. But I did leave you something, every year. I was bound by Wizard-Oath to leave you no gift that could be seen by human eyes. And I was not allowed to rescue you or take you away. But, I did leave you gifts, Harry. For one hour, one night a year, while you slept, I gave you the gift of being loved. I rocked you and held you, I told you that you were loved, not just by me, but by people you didn't know but would meet. I told you how your parents loved you, and your grandparents. I gave you hope that one day, it would get better. I fed you a cookie that would keep you from getting sick, that would give you strength, and when I laid you back on your bed, I put charms on the blankets that would keep you warm for the rest of the winter, and softened your pallet, so you would sleep more comfortably without the Dursleys ever knowing." 

Harry stared up at him, years worth of Christmas dreams coming back to him, of being held in loving arms, of warmth and comfort, of… "Cookies," he said wonderingly. "You smelled... of cookies." 

Nicholas smiled. "People have often said I smell like cookies." 

Harry blinked rapidly. "I ... I thought it was all... just dreams..." 

"It was meant to seem that way," Nicholas said, nodding gently. "It was easier on you..." 

"You hugged me," said Harry, swallowing hard. "I... I remember, you hugged me, and... and you'd kiss my forehead..." 

Nicholas nodded, and did not seem the least bit surprised when Harry suddenly threw himself into the welcoming arms. And once again, Harry felt that all-encompassing love, the gentle affection that made him feel that at least one person thought he was special, thought he deserved love. Reassurance, affection, pride... 

Harry looked up. "You're... proud of me?" 

"You grew up so well," said Nicholas, the tears in his eyes again. "You grew up to be a good man, Harry, in spite of everything the Dursleys did, in spite of the deprivation in your life. You're a good, kind, loving man, with a good heart. You're a dependable, loyal friend, a loving husband, and you're going to be a wonderful father. Of _course_ , I'm proud of you! So _very_ proud of you!" 

Something in Harry that had never dared to make itself known relaxed and seemed to expand. The part of him that had always needed the approval of someone ... parental, someone outside of himself that... he sighed. It just felt... good. Very good. 

The arms around him tightened slightly, then let him go. Nicholas stepped back. "I have to leave now, Harry. There are other children I must spend time with..." 

Harry tilted his head to one side. "Like me?" 

Nicholas nodded. "There are more than you know, and some of them... some of them, all I can do is leave them hope. This is not an easy job... but I would not trade it for the world." 

"I understand," said Harry with a smile. "Be careful out there." 

"Oh, believe me, I am, Harry, I am." The old wizard smiled, and picked up his bag. "Before I forget," he said, and reached into his bag. He rummaged a moment, then nodded and pulled out a beautifully wrapped little box. "This is for you." 

Harry took it, and smiled up at Nicholas. "Thank you." 

"You're welcome, Harry," said Nicholas kindly. "Well then, I'm off. Merry Christmas, Harry. I'll see you again next year!" 

"Merry Christmas," said Harry, watching him go back up the chimney. As soon as he was gone, the fireplace returned to normal, and the glowing embers of the fire returned, filling the room with warmth and light. 

Harry looked at the gift in his hand, wrapped in green paper and tied with gold ribbon. A sprig of holly decorated the top, and the gift tag said, "To Harry Potter, from Nicholas." Smiling, Harry untied the ribbon and watched the paper fall away from a plain white box. He opened it and stared in wonder. 

A silver frame surrounded a wizarding photo of his parents sitting on the floor by a Christmas tree, with a two months old Harry in his mother's lap. Fairies were dancing in the air above him, and Harry could see his little feet kicking in excitement, his hands waving as if trying to touch the fairies with his fingertips. And in the background, he could see the fairies crawling around on the branches of the tree, just like they were on the tree in his house now. He watched his father lean forward to touch the baby's nose with the tip of his finger, watched him pick the baby up and kiss him, standing to show him the tree before the picture looped to repeat. He watched hungrily, catching new details every time. The smile his mother flashed at the picture taker. The way his father threw his head back to laugh when the baby's kicking foot sent one of the fairies spinning back into the tree. His mother's hand, curving over the top of the baby's head, and the way the baby closed his eyes and sighed... 

That baby was him. Harry. 

Of all the photos he now had of his parents, and of himself as a baby, he had no photos of the first and only Christmas he shared with them. Until now. 

Slowly, he reverently picked up the photo and walked across the rug to set it on the mantle with the other photos there. Himself, Ron, and Hermione, all standing on the platform in Hogsmeade their first year before taking the train back to London. The three of them again, after the end of the War, sitting in the sunlit orchard of the Burrow. Harry and Ginny, sweaty and dirty after working in Molly's garden one afternoon. Sirius, Remus, and his father, standing in front of Honeydukes in Hogsmeade when they were at Hogwarts. Hermione and Ron on their wedding day. Harry and Ginny on their wedding day. Newborn James in his mother's arms. And now this new photo. 

Somehow, it was all complete. 

Harry stepped back, taking one more look around the room and saying goodbye to the ghosts of Christmases Long Gone and Passed. He looked toward the bedroom door where the spirits of Christmas Present, and Christmases Yet to Come waited for him. He smiled. That was where he belonged. It was time for bed, and time for him to be with his family. His family, all wrapped up in warmth, love, and hope. 

Lots and lots of hope. 

"Merry Christmas, Nicholas," he said, and casting a charm to bank the fire for the night, he went into the bedroom where love and life waited for him. 

Merry Christmas, Harry Potter. 


End file.
